Queen of Hearts
by Thalius
Summary: "A Jack of Spades?" "Yeah, I had a whole system to keep track of things. Royal cards stood for weapons, spades meant Hakke, clubs for Crux/Lomar, diamonds for Omolon, and hearts... well, hearts were for this girl I knew."
1. Queen of Hearts

**AN:** I originally posted this right after Taken King came out and gave us some juicy backstory on Cayde, and now that the Destiny 2 trailer just hit I'm all obsessed with the lore once again. This has been edited and updated (mostly for grammar), and I HOPE to have some sort of update on chapter 3 soon.

* * *

06:14. She's sleeping in again.

He hears her hit the snooze button twice. The third time she simply turns it off without resetting the alarm before falling asleep. She's in a deep sleep, so he resets it for her. She doesn't hear him slip into her room or slip back out.

It worries him. If she can't hear friendlies, she won't hear foes. He checks his pistol, recounting the chamber twenty-six times. Full. Always full.

He hopes it'll stay full.

When she finally wakes, quiet and calm, he's where he always is. She doesn't say good morning, but that isn't out of the ordinary; she never does. Neither does he. He checks his pistol again instead. Full.

He ghosts her like a shadow throughout the day, weaving between equipment and keeping a close eye on her. The lab is small, but so many things are dangerous, harmful. She doesn't notice, so he keeps following. Humans looked so incredibly fragile.

She twirls her ring a lot, the one in her third left finger. She's done it forty-seven times since waking up six-point-four hours ago. The metal has been smoothed with the worrying, dull spots breaking up the gleam. It's a constant daily ritual, and it's been a long time since she's seen the owner of her ring's partner.

He tries not to listen to the logs, but his hearing is too good. He hears her whisper words into a small microphone, filled with ache. Loneliness.

He knows about those things, too. But he doesn't have a microphone to talk into. No one on the other side to listen. He stays silent instead, shuffles the deck he keeps in his pocket to stay occupied. The smell of the old paper cards soothe him. Quieter than talking, too.

Eight-point-two hours. She hasn't eaten. Two coffees and a twenty-two minute nap. Not enough to sustain a person. It's become a habit with her more and more frequently. He thinks to get her food but then she'd be alone, and he doesn't know if she'd finally notice him in the room if he brought her food. Can't have that. Then she might send him away. She doesn't like it when the other doctors hover. She likes space. _(Bullshit, and you know it. You just like prancing around her_ — _shhh.)_

He checks his pistol. Clean, stable, loaded.

Nine-point-eight hours. A colleague brings her food instead—a cheese sandwich and a can of soda. She thanks him, gives him a smile, and nibbles on the sandwich, still working.

He pushes down the anger. That smile was _his_. He'd thought of it first _(I always think of things first)_ but he has to _protect her._ She's never smiled at him before. She's looked at him a total of four times.

Not her fault. She has bigger things to think on. He just has to point and shoot when needed.

She falls asleep at her desk after recording another log. The sandwich is half-eaten. Not enough calories to maintain a proper weight, but it's better than nothing.

Goosebumps flush across her skin. He checks the temperature—only eleven degrees _(284.15 Kelvin—more accurate, more accurate)_ in the lab. Too cold for a simple shirt.

He spies a spare lab coat hanging by the door. She is fast asleep _(always such a deep sleeper)_ , so he grabs it and places it gently around her shoulders, careful not to touch her. His hands are colder than the room _(metal's so much colder than flesh, even with gloves. Doesn't hide the facts)._

He dims the light and turns off the monitor flashing in front of her closed lids. She works long hours, sleeps in positions human bodies were not meant to stay in for long periods of time. A desk is not an ideal resting place, but she looks peaceful.

He checks his pistol.

* * *

She sleeps in until 06:32 today. Long time for her.

Today is a good day. She's eaten a full meal, and he heard her cheering to herself in the middle of her work earlier. A breakthrough, though he has no idea on what.

Good things, but they weren't responsible for his current mood. _(Mood? something other than hollow is a "mood" to you n_ — _SHHH.)_

She spoke to him for the very first time today.

"It's... er..."

Different. Her voice sounds different. She'd been recording another log _(so many logs, so very lonely)_ , but now her voice has broken off from its loving whisper. She is no longer speaking to Chioma.

When she looks in his direction, he realises she is speaking to _him._ No one else in the room but him. He wants to look around to verify it's _him_ she's looking at, but his scanner tells him this information with hard numbers. _(Need to get the human out of me.)_

"It's... I'm so very sorry—" Her eyes pass him over _(but what does she see?),_ then she speaks again. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Cayde." If he still had a heart it would have thundered in his ribcage. The cords in his neck seize instead.

"Yes, Cayde." She pauses. "I need a favour from you."

 _(Anything.)_ "Yes?"

"I..." She lets out a small shaky laugh and scratches at her hair. It sticks out from the side of her head, but she doesn't notice. "It sounds silly, but I'd like to move the setup of this room around." She looks around, glaring at the furnishings. "Need to change up the environment. Forming contingencies with negative emotions and whatnot, environmental tolerance, blah blah. Classical conditioning, you know?"

He nods and pretends he knows. He's heard the term before, probably to do with psychology. He doesn't follow those sorts of things. She gives him a smile for the quiet understanding—or at the very least humouring her—and if he knew how to smile in this body he'd give her one back.

"Okay, good. Can you help me move this desk, for starters?"

He relishes every command she gives him, and feels a weighted sense of joy when she nods in approval. The movement is effortless _(so light when you're built from iron and tempered steel)_ , and yet she appears so grateful whenever he shoves some table and chairs around. He doesn't know the intended floor plan of the room, but she's making the office less crowded; more central floor space.

Claustrophobic. That's what she's described it as. He doesn't share the affliction, but then again he's allowed to leave the building and she isn't. He sees sunlight on a regular basis.

It lasts for thirty-eight minutes and then he's finally done. She gives him a final thumbs-up, looking around the room again.

"Much better. Thank you for your help."

 _(Do exos stumble their words?)_ "It was nothing." It comes out harsher than intended, and she looks less happy now.

She nods her head nervously. _(Should have said nothing, nothing NOTHI—)_ "This'll help, I'm sure. Liven things up a little." She darts her eyes away, coughing politely to show the conversation is over and sits back down at her desk, now at the opposite end of the room.

He pushes her from his mind for a moment and recalibrates exit routes and defensive positions. She's given him less cover when aiming at the door, but she's too happy with the setup for him to say otherwise.

Besides, that's not her job. It's his problem to configure safe cover positions and exit strategies. She does all the math and the saving-humanity type of work.

He just shoots.

He moves back to his old spot before realising that now he can't see her from that angle in the room. He adjusts and shifts eighth-nine degrees west and takes two steps forward.

He spies the crown of her head over the small divider on her desk. Good enough for now. He'd find a better position tomorrow. She looks anxious again and he doesn't want to upset her any more than he's managed already by moving around the room.

He checks his pistol, replaying the sound of her voice in his mind. It's the most he'd ever heard her speak outside of those logs she records, and it had all been directed at _him._ _(suck it, Doctor Nguyen.)_

"And Cayde?"

He looks up from his piece and sees her eyes staring him, just over the divider. _(More than a physical barrier.)_

He waits for the follow-up in silence, looking back at her.

"Thank you for the lab coat," she concludes, then waves a sleeve at him. It's too big for her arms and covers her hands, making her look even smaller. She begins to roll them up, breaking eye contact and looking down at the cuffs. "It can get pretty chilly in here."

How does she know? It could have been a colleague. She has many friends, all clamouring for her favour. Dr. Sundaresh is the kind of scientist that inspires and impassions. He's seen the others compete to show off around her. All more likely candidates.

Whatever the reason, she's guessed right.

"It was nothing," he says again, but this time gets the inflection right _(why is it so much more difficult in this body?)_ , and she gives him a bright smile, one he tries to return. The joints in his face creak, but he manages what he hopes is a small grin.

She returns to her work and he slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out the deck of cards.

Queen of Hearts is the card face-up in the deck. He tries to smile again, his fingers brushing over the card for a moment before plunging it into the middle of the deck and shuffling it, not seeing it again for a long time.


	2. Apologies

**AN:** Updated 3/30/17 for some grammar and added detail.

* * *

He doesn't sleep in the general sense, not like he used to. It's more akin to deep brain wandering, where external stimulus blurs and filters and his thoughts aren't so regulated. It's peaceful, in what small way it can be. But he's still very much awake.

It's what he misses the most. He'd miss sex if he still had the hormones to back him up, but now it just seemed like a fond memory. It had deeply troubled him before _transcending,_ as good old Clovis Bray had phrased it—the heat, the passion, the breathlessness. It's odd how small that seems now. This freedom liberates a surprising _(or maybe disturbing?)_ amount of thinking space for more productive tasks.

He also thought he'd miss food. Granted, whenever his olfactory sensors root out the smell of warm meat cooking, or he picks up the sound of fresh fruit being cut, there's a fleeting phantom sensation of hollowness. _(Not entirely inaccurate.)_ It's still only an occasional nostalgia, and easy to ignore.

No, it's sleeping that he still craves. For the temporary oblivion, if nothing else. _Awake awake awake,_ with a whole lot of time to think and no tedious human urges to filter through. Just pure _brain,_ twenty-four hours a day.

His job is important. Guarding key minds working on problems that will help push back the Darkness. However, it leaves much room for thought. Pointing and shooting is no effort at all, and when he's not even doing _that,_ it's hell inside his head sometimes.

Like now.

She's crying. She doesn't know he can hear her; she's good at hiding the sound. But his ears are better.

He thinks of a thousand different things to do and rejects every single one of them. She's talked to him once, and that was two months ago. _(Still remember it like it was yesterday.)_ They don't know each other well enough for him to just walk up to her desk and ask her how she's doing. And also—what the hell would even say?

He knows why she's crying—she misses Chioma. Of course she does. Sundaresh loves that woman more than anything, and they're separated by millions of miles of empty space and star dust. He knows the feeling so well it's difficult to put into words. Language is so damn insignificant and useless sometimes.

He shuffles his feet, a pointless action. Checks his gun—of course it's loaded and primed. He sneaks a peak at his ghost, who's floating aimlessly around the lab equipment, scanning things when Maya's not looking. The silence is hard to think around.

Her head's down, arms folded on the desk. No other techs in the room—it's 0247 in the morning. She never stops working. Maybe she just needs some sleep? He opens his mouth—another pointless human gesture—then pauses and says nothing. _Maybe you'll be less soul-crushingly lonely if you took a nap._ Great advice.

Her breathing comes out in shuddering waves, punctured by tiny hiccups that she tries to hide with the cup of her hand. He wonders if she even knows he's there.

 _Psssst. Go on now._ Ghost is not looking at him, preoccupied with all the science happening around him, but he sure as hell is listening to Cayde think.

 _Shut up._

 _You'll drive yourself insane._

 _I already am insane._

 _That doesn't have any bearing on my previous statement._

 _Blah blah blah—go back to rooting around._

There's a silent _very well_ in the slump of the ghost's cogs, and he goes back to being nosy—just not in Cayde's head.

She cries herself to sleep. The peaceful sound of her breathing is a lovely replacement to her quiet mourning, and he tries to focus on that instead of the shame he feels, right in the very pit of his body. _(Coward.)_

* * *

"No, no. That's wrong. God, that's wrong!"

Anger is better than sorrow, at least. He listens to her rage at herself, scribbling furiously on paper and scratching things out.

Five hours after her temporary break in strength, she's up and working hard again. She gives him a passing glance while she cleans herself up, not saying a word or making note of her swollen eyes or mussed hair. He is equally silent on the matter. Then she gets to work.

Except it's not going how she wants it. Ghost feeds him small tidbits of information, giving him a vague idea on what she's working on—gravity and celestial bodies, and their effects on time and space, among other things. Stuff the Vex have mastered already and use without effort. Stuff humans had also figured out, but that was years ago, before everything had gone to shit. Now they have to start from scratch and pick apart old tech for clues.

She shoves back violently from her desk, the wheels on her chair propelling her hard away. He snatches the back of chair before it tips over—before she even realises it's going to tip over—and her head snaps forward.

"Ow," she complains and rubs her neck. He immediately steps away, thankful that he can't blush.

"Sorry," he says. "The chair—it was gonna go over."

"Well I can take care of myself," she bites back, rolling her shoulders.

"I know." He steps back towards his usual spot, and she says nothing else on the matter.

She's tired and angry. He understands. _(Boy, does he understand.)_

Maya sighs and shuffles back to her desk, grabbing aspirin from a shelf and dry-swallowing three, and gets back to work.

"Do y—"

"What?" Her heads snaps towards him. The look on her face kills the words in his throat.

 _(Why can't you keep your fucking mouth shut?)_ "I just—do you need anythin—"

"No, I'm fine."

He nods and she turns around. Then she puts her head in her hands and doesn't look up for another two hours.

He doesn't ask her anything else.

* * *

Sometimes he gets to leave the Academy and go hunting. Not always big game, but occasionally he gets a call for support from other guardians hunting the Ahamkara.

He's never refused. It's the one thing he's good at—and not just good. He's fucking _amazing_ at killing things. And no one ever notices when he leaves, so he can go whenever the call comes or the urge to go shoot something gnaws at him.

When he comes back from one such fight, smeared in grime and tar and blood, he finds her still in her office.

She's curled up on the floor. He doesn't think she's asleep, but her eyes are closed and her breathing is slow.

She doesn't look peaceful. Her brows are scrunched together, her mouth an angry line. Splotches dot her skin from exhaustion and crying. The high from the fight starts to fade, and he sets to cleaning his gear while she lies there.

* * *

She can't stand to work any longer, but leaving her office feels like a defeat, so she curls up on the ground and tries to get some sleep instead.

She lays there for what feels like hours, and she doesn't think she actually sleeps, but she must have because something wakes her up and it's the sound of a guard rustling around with his things. She peeks an eye open and finds an odd sight.

There are grimy dark rags crumpled in a pile beside him. He's kneeling on the ground, wiping off blood and dirt from his armour. It's Cayde—he never leaves her side. Or at least she didn't _think_ he did. But surely the Guardian must have a life of his own, outside of these four walls—she hears him speak to the illustrious Vanguard often enough. She wonders what it's like to walk on the surface of a planet. She's starting to forget.

She refocuses her mind in him. He wipes his boots and clothing down—it's not armour, not really. Did exos even need armour? The gear is worn, the leather straps smooth and soft. Guardians don't wear any official kind of uniform, but his ensemble is especially patchy. Symbols and insignias dot his clothing— _are they trophies? Badges?—_ brightening up dull greys and browns with no apparent pattern. It contrasts with the bright sheen of his aquarium-blue frame, but it somehow suits him.

When he's satisfied with the state of his gear, Cayde moves to his weapon. She watches him pull apart his pistol, dismantling every piece and cleaning it until it's shining again. His hands move with practiced ease, slotting back the weapon together and reloading it. The revolver gives a pleasant _clink_ sound as he presses bullets back into the chamber. With it clean, he holsters it, and she's almost disappointed that he's finished. The background noise is a pleasant change from the usual inhuman whirr of equipment and computers.

She looks to his ghost then. It drifts lazily around his head, looking both alert and relaxed at once. They're curious little things, and she would happily devote a few decades of research into understanding them if she had the luxury. But then she wouldn't be here if that luxury were a reality, so she simply watched the ghost from an observant distance.

It feels as if eyes are on her. She looks back to Cayde and sees two turquoise lights looking straight at her, freezing her in place. She thinks about faking sleep, but he can clearly see she's awake, so she rubs her face and sits up.

"Where did you go?" she asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor and not bothering with a proper chair.

"Hunting. There was a call for backup from the Tower. You were sleeping, so I went." There's a sound of hesitance in his voice, as if asking her if she's okay with him leaving. Maya gives him a tired smile in response.

"Does that happen often?" She asks.

For an exo, he has a surprising range of facial expressions. Plates of pliable alloy scrunch and rearrange on his face to form something close to a hurt expression.

"Yes," is all he says, and she realises that she's never noticed him leaving or returning.

"Oh." She pauses, not sure how to proceed. "I'm sorry, I just get so wrapped up in m—"

"Don't apologise," he says instantly.

The apology sounds hollow anyway. It's getting harder and harder to fake emotion. Not that she doesn't feel bad—she does. She just isn't sure how to properly express that anymore. Everything seems like a chore now, especially interacting with other people. There's only one person in the world she wants to see, and that woman is far from reach.

 _Chioma. God how I miss you. You send letters every damn week and I can't reply to a single one. And even if I could, it wouldn't be enough._

She shied away from her thoughts, looking for a distraction. That's not difficult—Cayde is now... stitching his cloak?

"You can sew?"

He looks up from the large, ragged hole torn down the side of his cloak, needle poised in hand. "Of course I can."

His tone makes her blush. "Sorry, I—"

"Didn't think a robot knew how to sew?" The plates of his mouth bend into an approximation of a smirk. It seems he's trying to get the hang of the expression, too.

"Yes," she concedes, not bothering to lie. "Just an odd sight, is all."

"Well, I learned beforehand anyway. Guess it does look weird." He looks back to his work. Fingers deftly weave the the dark thread through the fabric, and she begins to notice a multitude of stitched patches on his cloak.

"Before?" _Of course before. Exos don't just appear out of thin air._ "Sorry, that's a dumb quest—"

"You keep saying sorry," he replies, not looking up. "And yes, before. Don't really remember when I turned—that part's fuzzy. Must have died soon after I got this body though. I'm still getting used to it."

That kind of casual mention of death as a temporary affliction was unique to Guardians, and she didn't think she'd ever get used to hearing it.

She huffs out a breath, shaking off the weird feeling his words gave her. "I keep saying sorry because I've been rude to you."

He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "You're overworked and lonely as hell. I know how it goes."

Damn. Guess she's not as stealthy at hiding her emotions as she thinks she is. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"I can leave if I'm disturbing you."

Maya shakes her head. "No, n—" She stops to give a painfully large yawn. "—no, it's alright. I should sleep in a proper bed anyway."

They're silent while he finishes repairing the fabric of his hood. It's soothing to watch him work, hands moving almost too fast for her to keep track of. He slips it over himself when he's done, standing up and absent-mindedly smacking dirt off of it.

"Why do you wear that?"

He looks down at her. "Helps mask the gleam." He moves his head around to demonstrate, and the dim light from the overhead bulbs catches and reflects off his exposed face. "The blue is a dead giveaway."

She nods and rubs her eyes. God, is she tired.

Cayde makes an awkward motion with his feet, as if unsure where to stand, before taking tentative steps in her direction and offering a hand. She gladly grabs his fingers and uses them as an anchor to stand up. Her legs are asleep and she tries to wiggle feeling back into them.

"Thank you." She lets go and he immediately drops his hand to his side. She thought he would be cold, but even through his glove she feels a mechanical sort of warmth running through him.

"You're welcome," he replies, then moves back to his usual spot in her office.

"You know you don't have to stand in here all day."

"Do you want me to leave?" His voice is neutral and detached, but he doesn't look at her when he asks the question.

"No, but don't you get bored?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all."

She nods and sits back down at her desk, too tired to argue. Papers are scattered everywhere, and she sets to cleaning them up before giving it another stab. However horrible she might be feeling, there's too much work still to be done for her to mope around on the office floor. _Chioma would lose her mind if she saw how unproductive I was being._ The thought forces a wobbly smile to her face and she tries to focus on the math in front of her.

Behind her, she can hear the faint sound of a deck of cards being shuffled. It's something she hears from Cayde's corner of her office on occasion, and the soft, soothing noise never fails to relax her thoughts.

She continues to smile as she works.


	3. House of Winter

**AN:** So, hey. I didn't think I'd ever continue this story, but Destiny 2's reveal and the stream Bungie recently did has revitalised my motivation to write more of this! Thanks again to everyone who sent me nice messages and reviews about this story, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

They build a strange rapport, and he doesn't know if he likes it or not.

Sundaresh starts to notice when he leaves on hunts, and even begins to ask him to gather things while he's away; soil samples, Fallen tech, and sometimes, when she's especially bored, she asks for Vex carapaces. That's a dangerous one, but he complies when he can. The smile that tugs at her mouth is worth the risk.

She also asks him about the outside. What the sun looks like, how the air smells, and if Fallen patrols have increased in the area.

"Yellow, slaggy, and yes," he replies. She's disappointed with his brevity. _He's_ concerned with her motivations.

"You have to give me more than that," she says, frowning. "I haven't been outside in months. I need details."

Instead of elaborating, he turns and taps Ghost, who squeaks at him in response. "Show her something," he commands.

"Like what?" Its eye clicks, flicking in annoyance.

"The bounty near the Cinders."

"A boring retrieval op," Ghost bemoans, but finds the video log and projects it onto the wall of her lab.

Her eyes immediately widen at the display of green and yellow, taking in the view. "Is that in sector seventeen?" she asks, frowning at the display.

"I don't know what humans call it. Guardians call it the Cinders."

Sundaresh doesn't bother to reply, watching the log intently. He barely remembers the mission—it was low risk and low reward, but it got him out of the lab for a few hours. She seems enthralled with it though, so he cleans his gun while Ghost projects the recordings.

It becomes a regular occurrence once she realises his ghost records missions. She begins to ask him to scan things—mostly rock and gas reservoirs. He doesn't know what the cracks in the planet have to do with Vex, but he supposes he's lucky it's not him studying time and space. Still, it provides them a point of commonality to stand on that they didn't have before. He shares his hunts with her, and she shares her research, what little he understands.

It also smooths things over with Brask. "Waste of a good hunter," he'd always say. "Standing in a lab all day."

"So you admit I'm good," he'd always reply.

Andal's smile is apparent in his words. "You'd be dead by now if you weren't."

The scans ease his friend's worries. At least if he's got Cayde running around killing things under the guise of helping scientists, he can justify the cost of a hunter not collecting regular bounties. Ikora's insistence that the lab on Venus is a necessary risk also helps keep his boots in the doctor's laboratory.

But he's an idiot if he doesn't know what Sundaresh is doing. It only takes her five weeks to finally ask him the question he knows is coming.

" _Cayde."_

It's a particularly slow few days in the lab. The most interesting thing to happen was the power going out during a lightning storm for a few hours that he had to go out to the roof and fix. In his spare time, he's taken to carving figurines from the obscene amounts of plastiglomerate that littered the plains of Venus. He looks up from his latest project, the ridged back of an Ahamkara, and motions for her to continue.

"I need your help," Sundaresh says. She looks him dead in the eye from her seat in an office chair. Her expression is tired, but very, very serious.

"Shoot."

"I want you to escort me outside."

The plates of his face shift into a frown. " _Outside_ outside?"

"Yes."

He places his half-carved figurine on top of a computer console and crosses his arms. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"That's why I'm asking you."

 _(Is that a compliment or an insult?)_ "It's dange—"

Her face scrunches in annoyance. "Yes, I know it's dangerous. I know it's stupid. I know that your hunter friend in the Tower despises the fact that humans are even _on_ Venus, but this is the situation. I need to go up top." She taps her lip, thinking. "I don't know how long. Probably for a few weeks."

"Weeks?" He tries not to sound like an idiot, but what she's saying is _insane_. "Highly trained _guardians_ don't even survive continual exposure to the open world for that long." It's a weakness he doesn't share with his lesser trained siblings in arms, but Maya isn't him.

She shrugs her shoulders, the threat of death apparently not a major deterrent to her research. "There's something… odd going on with Venus' lithosphere, and I know this now thanks to your ghost's scans." She turns and expands the holographic screen at her desk, showing him an image of a series of rock layers. "Much like Earth, Venus' polarity reverses every couple million years. Normally it's easily measurable, but Venus…." She taps another image, showing graphs of data he doesn't try to understand. "At a certain point in its geologic history, the layers become scrambled. Some show magnetism in both directions at once—which should be impossible. Some layers are just missing. And it's inconsistent throughout the plates—which means the disturbances are more localised. I have a theory that this has something to do with the Vex warping in and out of Venus's atmosphere, especially when they do so in large numbers.

"But I need more samples to understand this better and see if I'm correct. If we can understand why this is happening, or at least figure out how to measure these anomalies, we might be able to see when and for how long the Vex have warped time in a given area. If my theory is true, which I believe it is, it could help to understand the enemy better."

 _Vex time warps are messing with the rock layers of planets. Huh._ "If the anomalies are different everywhere, then that means you'll want to get samples all over the globe?" He dreads the answer, but knows what it is even before the question leaves his mouth.

"Ideally, yes. Practically, though, I know it's not possible. But I'd like to get as many as I can in the Ishtar region, at least. I want to see just how localised the differences are, and to what degree they differ." She swipes away the screen of Venus' crust and leans back in the chair, sighing. "I won't need much equipment—just some excavation tools and a pack to carry them in. I can analyse everything back here when we're through."

"Can't I just grab them for you?" he asks. "I've done it before."

Maya smiles at him fondly. "Yes, and I really do appreciate it. But many of the samples are contaminated, or not always what I need."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't extract them properly," Ghost says by his head. "Like I told you."

He frowns up at his ghost. "Soil's soil."

"A bit more complicated than that," Maya interjects. "I'd like to take them myself."

He shakes his head. "No."

"What?"

"It's dangerous—"

"As you've mentioned—"

"The House of Winter has set up shop all over the Ishtar region and are raizing every inch of ground the Vex walk on. I can't protect you out there, not from that."

"Then _what_ is the point of you being here?" she snarls. She gets up from her seat, shoving a hand through her hair and beginning to pace. "We're stuck. Everything is a dead end. I need to go up and look for myself."

He does not need to wince at her remark because he no longer has the dexterity to do so, but her words don't hurt him any less. "You'll die."

"So bloody what?" she shoots back. "I'm one person. This is all of humankind we're talking about, and the lab needs solid data. I want to look for _myself,"_ she repeats. "To see what's happening, and I can't do that on remote scans alone. I'm not some armchair scientist who sends out scouts to conduct fieldwork for me. If I die, I'll at least gather some good data for the lab."

"What about your wife?" He realises that is the worst question to ask her, and regrets it instantly.

The sting in her voice is piercing. "So what about Chioma? She's not here. I might as well be dead, for all we talk anymore. I can't keep _sitting_ here, Cayde." She moves forward and grabs his arm, shaking him for emphasis. "I need to go outside, and I trust you. Please."

 _(That makes one of us.)_ He feels hollow again, and sees the hope drain from her eyes before he even speaks. "I can't." Can't let her get hurt, can't let another life fall on his watch. "There's been too much death already, and the Vanguard will withdraw if the laboratory starts to die off. I'm sorry."

She shoves away, shaking her head violently. Maya doesn't say anything to him, only sits back down at her desk. He moves back to his post, sensing the silence like a cloak around him. They do not speak for the rest of the day.

She continues to ask him for samples whenever he goes on bounties, but does not share her findings with him. He spends more time carving out figurines from slag, and does not share his hunts with her.

The ground that had gained with one another is broken now, rolled back. She treats him like a stranger, and perhaps he deserves some of it. Nothing is fair, especially not now. But he continues his post, keeping to himself. She continues her work, withdrawing even more. The silence fills his head again, but at least she's alive and safe. He would not gamble with her life above ground.

* * *

"Wake up," comes a whisper. It is mechanical and precise, right in her ear.

She jolts awake, looking around in the dark. Cayde's ghost is by her head, twitching and flitting through the air nervously, and she doesn't have to guess at what's going on. The report of a pistol in the distance confirms her suspicions.

"Fallen have breached the lab," Ghost informs her, and her stomach swoops low with dread. "Much larger patrol than reported from scouts. We have to move."

"There's a hatch," is the first thing she croaks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and reaching for the pistol shoved beneath her mattress. "In the main lab complex, tucked in the south-eastern corner. We can hide there. Where's—" An explosion on the other side of her door cuts her off. The bark of a revolver sounds in the ensuing noise vacuum, followed by screaming.

Not human, though. Something else.

"Let's wake the others," she whispers instead, slipping off the bed and trying to get her bearings. Unfortunate that they were being attacked before she had the chance to get coffee. She'd have to settle for adrenaline for now.

The tiny shell whizzes forward, stopping at the door. It hangs for a moment, silent, before turning back to face her. "He'll let us know when it's safe."

"Do you two have a direct neural link?" Despite the situation, guardian-ghost psychology is an enigma that endlessly fascinates her. It defied most conventional understandings of death and consciousness, and exos were especially strange cases.

"Yes," the ghost responds. "It's much noisier now, after pairing with him." Then it keens out a low whistle that sounds like a laugh, and she thinks Cayde must have heard the comment. Then its cogs straighten, its small voice sobering. "Hallway is clear."

She opens the door and peeks out, verifying it herself. Six dead heaps lay on the ground, oozing a sticky reddish coagulant onto the metal floors. She recognises Fallen house sigils emblazoned on the dead's tattered cloaks, but can't place which house they're from. Cayde mentioned the House of Winter before, during their argument, and she supposes the deep blue matches the descriptor well enough. Not that it matters.

"Come." The voice is to her right. She spies Cayde in the dim light, blue eyes cutting through the dark. His revolver is in his hand, barrel orange with use. "I'll take point."

Maya nods and tiptoes behind him, following him down the hall. "How many?" she whispers, spotting the other dorm rooms. There are two other scientists stationed in this branch of the facility along with a student from the Tower, and she hopes to God they all still remembered their firearms training.

"A lot. Too many to count," Cayde replies. "Tower knows. Hopefully they'll send someone on time."

"On time?" She suppresses a chill at his ominous tone.

He turns back to look at her, eyes and throat flaring bright as he speaks. "The Fallen want the lab."

The situation is nuclear, then. _Shit_. "Have you seen their Servitors yet?"

He shakes his head and opens the door to Nguyen and Zharia's shared quarters. "Only heard them. Expect to see them soon enough."

They wake the others, ordering the three of them to keep quiet and stay low. They arm themselves, though she doesn't know how much good conventional ammunition will be against the Fallen. Their weapons aren't armed with Light like the Guardians' are, but they would have to do.

Cayde leads them towards the main lab, moving with a precise grace she hadn't seen from him before. His movements were slow and stiff before now, always looking out of place. The insertion of dozens of Fallen apparently kicked him out of it. That, and their focus has shifted from ignoring each other to staying alive. She's glad he's being professional about it, at least.

His ghost strays behind, guiding them into cover whenever contact occurs—like right now. They duck beneath a desk in the western laboratory as the sound of Fallen flood the room, huddling close and aiming their weapons at the open space in front of them. "You okay?" She asks Nina, the grad student from the Tower. From the way the girl is shaking, she's never seen what kind of resistance the Darkness had to offer.

Nina nods, biting her lip and steadying her aim with a knee under her arm. Maya pats her shoulder, and the girl forces a smile. "We'll get through this," she assures her, hoping she sounds at least somewhat confident.

"We have any time to save data?" Zharia asks beside Nguyen.

"If we can, yes," the ghost interjects. "But no promises. The Fallen mean to take it."

"What for?"

Its cogs whirl in what looks like a shrug. "Not sure. House of Winter is obsessed with Vex. Maybe searching for a way to control them."

 _Well that's a terrifying thought._ Maya tries not to dwell on it. An easy feat, as further conversation is cut off by howling. She watches bright flashes splash the walls, slicing through the shadows. Silhouettes dance in the light, both Guardian and Fallen, punctuated by the sick _thunk_ of bullets hitting flesh and the occasional grunt from Cayde.

They wait a minute or an hour under the desk, she isn't sure. The grip on her pistol feels like it'll crack with her squeezing it so hard, but eventually the flares of light and the sounds of shots dissipate. Cayde's ghost whistles after twelve seconds of silence and floats above the desk, looking around. "It's clear," it says to them, and they uncurl from their positions with a groan. Her legs and back are cramped from sitting tense for so long, and they all help each up off the floor.

Maya finds Cayde in the dim light, only visible by the flickering of destroyed equipment. He's covered in… blood, perhaps, or maybe dirt, and his right arm hangs lifelessly by his side.

His ghost flies to him. The shell of its body illuminates and expands, and it shoots a beam of Light at his bicep. "Careless," it chides. "And too slow. What would Brask say?"

"He'd thank me for doing all the work," he replies. "How long?"

"Just a few minutes. Clean yourself up while I work."

He does just that, wiping his face and chest clear with the hem of his cloak. Maya turns to the others while the Guardian recovers. "Grab whatever you can while we wait. Nothing physical; download everything."

Zharia, Nguyen and Nina spring to work, rushing to anything that looks like it's at least partially intact. Maya heads to the fridge in the corner, which thankfully survived the firefight, and grabs what she can. Water, packaged snacks, and some gum from the kitchen drawer, which she all stuffs in a small equipment satchel. Anything to keep their blood sugar up. She doesn't know how long they'd have to hide, and they need to be prepared.

Cayde moves next to her while she packs, arm still immobile and ghost still working away to repair it. "Sensors are picking up more Fallen moving this way," he says by way of greeting. "We'll have to head out in about sixty seconds."

"Your arm going to make it?" she asks, slinging the bag around her.

He shrugs his good shoulder, looking to his ghost. The plates of his face move into a grin that is somehow wolffish. "Worst case is I die and Ghost picks me up again."

"I'd rather you not do that," the small robot replies. Then it stops and floats up above his head, clicking its cogs. "Fallen approaching fast. We should move."

Maya waves to the others, and they converge to head deeper into the facility. Only two more offices to get through, and they'd be in the clear. _If_ they could get to the hatch without the Fallen seeing them. "Do they want us, or just data?" she asks the ghost, who keeps pace with Cayde, trying to put the finishing touches on the damaged joint.

"Who knows? Hopefully just information, otherwise your panic room won't be of much help. The Fallen find what they want to," it says. The other scientists share terrified glances at the ghost's words, and she suppresses a sigh. So much for positive reinforcement.

They make it into the main lab just as Cayde's arm is finished. He flexes his hand under his glove, quickly touching his fingers together to test the tendons in his arm. Satisfied with the results, he ushers them towards the corner in the back of the lab. "Where is it?"

"Under this desk," she says, pointing. "Putting a carpet over it seemed too conspicuous."

"Well, start moving," he replies. "Because they—"

"A _kell?"_

Maya turns at the ghost's exclamation. She's heard the word before, one that is only whispered about by angry, vengeful Guardians. She doesn't have much information on kells beyond their name, only knowing that they were Fallen leaders and were larger than any of their subordinates.

She decides then, watching it crawl under the low hang of the doorway and shove its massive body into the room, that it looks like death itself.


	4. Kell Tamer

**AN:** Hey, sorry for another slow update; work schedule went crazy right after I decided I wanted to continue this.

Anyway, here's the next one! Hopefully the next chap won't take so goddamn long!

* * *

Maya grabs Nina and dives for cover the moment she sees the giant Fallen soldier enter the lab. Nguyen stands motionless, staring wide-eyed at the enemy, and takes a bullet in the mouth for his mistake. Zharia calls out in terror, trying hopelessly to pull him away from the direct line of fire, before Cayde shoves them both into cover. They make it to a centrifuge that they duck behind just as Nguyen's body hits the floor. He slams into the desk on the way down—the one sitting on top of their contingency plan—and falls with a wet thud. Maya forces herself to look away, trying her best not to vomit at the site of an open skull. Nina stares in open horror and begins to scream. The bark of a hand cannon is the only thing Maya can hear over the girl, and she fights down the urge to curl up into a ball and cover her ears.

Ghost appears beside her head, body shivering with energy. "Calm her," it orders. "And hide."

She grabs Nina, covering her mouth and pulling her deeper into the recesses of the desk. "Find us a hiding spot," she whispers to the ghost, who blinks out of sight. "Nina, shhh. It's alright." Maya wraps her arms around the girl, rocking a little too fast for it to be comforting, but it at least stops her from screaming.

Maya continues to rock them both, flinching whenever the desk shakes above them. Small screeches and clicks sound all around them, but the real terror is the deep, bellowing howl that could only be coming from the Kell. She can't see Cayde or Zharia from this angle, but the Guardian must be putting up a hell of a fight for all the racket the Fallen are making.

Ghost blinks back into existence beside them. Nina squeaks in surprise, and Maya covers her mouth again before anything more substantial could escape. "Where?" she asks.

"Follow me."

Maya unhooks her arms from Nina, pressing a finger over her mouth to keep her quiet. Nina nods, and they crawl towards the ghost. It guides them towards the fume hoods at the other end of the lab, helping them crawl from cover to cover by watching the room. Cayde has somehow managed to keep the enemy from flanking them, which is the only reason they aren't all dead right now.

She turns to look back at him. His knife is in his left hand, bolstering the revolver in his right, which snaps off shots so quickly that his arm is a blur of motion and the barrel of his pistol heats to a molten red. Zharia is still huddled in cover beside him, arms covering her head. "What about—"

"I will help her after," Ghost assures them, then motions with its shell forward. "Keep moving."

They follow orders, shuffling over the ground and curling up against desks or consoles whenever stray shots find their over way to them. The fume hoods, which she assumes Ghost wants them to shove into, are only a few metres away from them, separated by an open expanse of floor they'd need to dart across without being seen. It's a small distance under normal circumstances, but the tile stretches longer with each ping of lead and screech from the Fallen.

And there was something slithering along the floor, too; not shadow, because shadows didn't move, but the inky dark coiled and curled like smoke, wrapping around desk legs and sliding across the tile with strange purpose.

She had no time to postulate on what it might be, and resolved herself to ignore it for the time being. "I'll—I'll go first," Maya whispers to Nina, trying not to think too hard about what she just volunteered to do. "Watch what I do and copy me, okay?"

The girl nods furiously, and Maya turns her attention to the ghost. She takes a deep breath and blinks hard. "Tell me when it's clear."

Ghost peeks out just beside the console they're hiding behind, watching the Fallen. She doesn't know how many there are, or what they're even after, but they aren't shooting at random or destroying the equipment. She hoped—prayed—it was only data they were searching for.

"Now!" Ghost orders, and she darts from cover. She's halfway across the floor when a Vandal spots her and screeches, and she gambles with a combat roll that sends her tumbling into the side of the fume hood.

She clutches at her head, trying to recover, and shuffles towards the cabinets under the hood. The Vandal is still howling behind her, getting closer now, forcing her heart up into her throat and making it difficult to breathe. It wasn't shooting, and for a moment she wonders if it intended on eating her instead.

Maya turns to see how close it is only to watch it fall, blood flying from its neck as it twirls away from her. Ghost must have tipped the Guardian off about her impending doom. "Thanks, Cayde," she mutters, and unlatches the door to the cabinet, shoving away boxes of gloves and safety gear to make room.

The air crackles behind her then, a horrible static that she would describe as nauseating if static could be such a thing. The current is so strong her hair floats up towards the source and crackles along her coat in tiny pricks of light. She looks back again, sees Nina still hiding beside the console for a split second before her view is obstructed by a massive leg. The owner of the leg materialises above it, impossibly large, and Maya thinks she hears it start laughing. Its back is to her, heavy cloak dropping to floor and blowing putrid air towards her.

"Get inside!" Ghost is beside her head again, whistling at her, and she shoves into the cabinet, pulling the door shut. The little shell follows her in, dimming its light to keep from shining through the cracks. The Kell hasn't seen her dart inside, and she hopes nothing else has, either.

Maya presses her face to the crack in the door, wondering where Nina had gone. She peers out just in time to watch the Kell crush the girl's head in one of its many fists, and this time Sundaresh is the one who is covering her mouth to keep back screams.

"Oh god," she moans, not able to look away as the headless grad student slips to the floor. "Oh god, oh god."

"Be still." The ghost's voice is gentle and not unkind, but firm enough to anchor her to something other than the grizzly sight in front of her. It nudges her in the shoulder with its tiny body, successfully forcing her to look away from Nina. "We're safe here, for now."

Maya swallows hard, nodding, and wraps her arms around herself. She'd be the one dead right now if she hadn't gone first. The sick relief she feels at being alive makes her want to vomit again, so she concentrates on the nausea instead of the guilt.

"Shouldn't you be with Cayde?" she whispers, trying to distract herself.

"He's safer if I'm not in the line of fire," it replies. "And you need some company."

She doesn't ask any other questions. She doesn't want any more answers right now.

At some point she hears Zharia start screaming. Maya doesn't look this time, but she can't quite hold in the sob when the woman's voice suddenly cuts off with a resounding crack of bone. She hears Cayde call out, a sick fear in his voice that sends a thrill of terror through her body. A blaze of orange light spills through the gaps in the door, and the sound of thunder rolls through the room. She thinks it's a revolver maybe, but the shots are loud, so loud it makes her head throb. Three booms ring out in quick succession, igniting screeches from the Fallen.

She's shaking uncontrollably now, curled up tightly in the furthest corner of the cabinet and pressing her wedding band to her mouth, grip still hard around her pistol. The last time she spoke to Chioma in person had been seven months ago, and she feels a bone-deep regret flood her body when she realises she most likely won't get the chance to see her again.

She walks the line of terror that keeps her mind just past coherent, rocking in the space that she could and reciting any conversations she could remember having with her wife. Whatever her last moments were, they were not going to be spent without Chioma, one way or another.

She recognises the sound of the ghost's voice next to her ear, not quite audible. It nudges her again, hard, and she looks dimly over at the robot. "What?"

"Cayde is down. Do not make any sound." Then it winks out of sight, and it takes all she has not to call out for it to come back.

Maya follows orders instead. She stills her rocking, draws close to the back wall of the cabinet, and forces her breathing to slow. She focuses her entire brain on being silent, straining to listen for any movement her way. She doesn't know when it happened, but the room is quiet now, broken up only by the low chatter of Fallen. A wash of purple light finds its way through the cracks of the cabinet door, the sounds of mechanical buzzing and beeping interplaying with Fallen barks. Their Servitor must be here.

She hears computers and equipment in the lab begin to boot up from the coaxing of the Servitor. If she could keep quiet, wait for them to collect what they wanted and leave, she could crawl back over to Cayde and wait for his ghost to piece him back together. Maya focuses on keeping her breathing slow and measured, counting Mississippis in her head and locking her limbs to stay as still as possible.

Her hiding plan works, up until the giant orb arrives at the centrifuge she's hiding beneath. It scans the metal, beeps loudly, and before she can move or even exhale, arms are reaching into the cabinet and pulling her out.

She kicks hard at the grip on her leg and raises her weapon, thrown immediately going raw as she lets out a howl. Her pistol finds the face of a dreg holding onto her knee; it crumples on top of her instantly, spilling its foul-smelling blood all over her pants, but it is quickly replaced by two more dregs. She shoots at them until her chamber empties, managing to bring down three more before she's dragged out from her hiding place by stronger Fallen. A hand—claw—reaches down and takes her gun, tossing it onto a desk. She stares up at the many eyes locked on her, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Then the Kell moves to where she lies on the floor, breaking through the crowd of Fallen standing over her prone body. Too many eyes stare out from behind its mask, unflinching and entirely devoid of anything she could read or interpret. A hand larger than her torso reaches down and wraps around her waist, pulling her up from the floor. She realises she is going to die now.

But it's not Chioma's name on her lips, as she would have thought. She doesn't even think of her—not when she's staring down the helm of a Kell.

"Vex!" she yells instead, putting her hands up in front of her to shield her from its terrible gaze.

The Kell freezes, cocking its head. Its deep voice vibrates through its whole body, down its arm and shaking her spine as it asks her questions she can't understand. "Vex," she repeats, and points to herself. The ghost had been onto something after all, and its theory had just afforded her a few extra minutes of life. "I—I know how to control Vex."

She doesn't know if it understands anything of what she's saying, but apparently the word Vex is enough to persuade the Kell to not kill her right this instant. It drops her back to the floor and begins speaking to the Fallen around it, clicking and growling. Maya looks around for another hiding spot while the Fallen are distracted, and spies Cayde on the floor not far from her. She flinches at how broken and lifeless his body looks. She knows his ghost will repair the hole in his chest and the arm ripped from his body, but his utter stillness and lack of any light in his eyes reminds her that she is the only living thing in the room not hell bent on killing her.

A dreg punches her in the hip and shakes a fist at her, forcing her attention back to the ring of soldiers crowded around her. She shrinks away from it, especially when it waves a gun at her, and watches it point at a console to her left. The Kell is still standing over her, but it's silent now, only watching her. She almost liked it better when it was picking her up and shaking her. At least she knew what was about to happen.

Maya gets up with a groan when the dreg hits her again and limps to the console it pointed to. The Servitor is right beside it, its lone eye also staring at her. She turns to the dreg. "What do you want me to do?" she rasps, throat ragged from the horrible air that had settled in the lab. The room had become inky, with shadows curling at the edges of their feet. This must be what Darkness smells and feels like.

The dreg snarls at her and points again. The Kell turns to fully face her, watching for… something. Deceit, perhaps. Could Fallen even understand human expression?

Maybe.

The hum of the Servitor gives her an idea. She pulls up a text box and types: CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME? She looks to the giant orb and points to the screen. If it can synthesise human data, maybe it could understand human language.

Words appear in the box right next to hers: / YES /

She looks to the keyboard, wondering what she could ask without threat of being murdered for it. Eventually she settles on: ARE YOU LOOKING FOR INFORMATION ON THE VEX?

/ YES /

/ YOU HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF THEIR FUNCTIONS /

YES I DO. Maya's fingers dance over the keys, wondering if she should say the next line; they'll kill her the moment they realise she's lying, but then she supposes they'll kill her if she doesn't have any information they can't just find on the consoles. Finally she types: I KNOW HOW TO CONTROL THEM.

/ HOW MANY UNITS [TYPE: QUERY] /

She doesn't know if Fallen were similar enough to humans to either understand or deploy the concept of trick questions, but it feels like the Servitor is testing her.

THEY ARE NOT AUTONOMOUS, she begins. THEY ARE A NETWORK. UNITS ARE IRRELEVANT. I KNOW HOW TO MANIPULATE THE NETWORK.

/ YOU WILL SHOW US /

The Servitor turns to… speak with the Kell, if she could call it speaking. It vibrates and moans, a series of noises with no identifiable pattern.

Whatever it's saying, it's keeping her alive. A Vandal grabs her arm and jerks her forward. She looks back to Cayde, panicking. Her trick may have granted her temporary immunity, but she doesn't know how long that will last. "Wait," she says, tugging at her arm. The Vandal growls at her. "Wait!" She points to the console she spoke to the Servitor with. The Vandal looks to the Kell, who waves it off and shoves her back to the computer. She stumbles and grabs a hold of the desk to stabilise herself, then looks to the keyboard.

ONE MORE THING, she types, and the Servitor turns back to the console. I NEED THE HELP OF THE GUARDIAN. She points to Cayde in the corner.

/ IT IS DEAD /

The shadows at her feet pull on her pant legs, urging her to invite them in, but all they do is give her an idea. I KNOW HOW TO REVIVE HIM. She types furiously on, heart beating hard as she prays to everything in the sky that Cayde's ghost is still around somewhere. CONTROLLING VEX WILL NOT WORK WITHOUT LIGHT FROM A GUARDIAN. HE MUST BE REVIVED.

/ IT WILL BE EXECUTED IF IT ENGAGES /

HE WILL NOT. I WILL TELL HIM TO STAND DOWN.

/ THEN YOU WILL REVIVE IT /


	5. In the Dark

Maya stands over Cayde's body, flanked by Vandals. They spend a good ten minutes patting him down, pulling knives from hidden places and tearing off any packs he has hanging from his belt. They also take his gun; the hand cannon's barrel is still glowing from so much use, and the guards seem especially interested in it. Two begin to squabble for the pistol, but it only lasts as long as the Kell's patience. The massive creature snatches the pistol for itself and stashes it away deep within its cloak, and the Vandals are knocked to the ground with a stray arm for their trouble.

She looks back the the guardian on the ground. From this angle, it's difficult to believe the damage to his body can be repaired, but then she had just spoken to a Fallen Servitor, so _improbable_ is kind of a redundant qualifier right now. _Here goes nothing_. "Ghost," she whispers, and holds out her hand. "You can come out. They won't attack." _I hope._

She stares at her open palm, willing the small shell to appear. Ghosts could pop in and out of sight, she knew, and hoped that it had hung around to see her exchange with the Servitor. But what if it had gone to call for help? Could ghosts stray far from their Guardians, especially when they were dead? Is it even still _alive?_

She waits a full minute before it finally appears, making her exhale a shaky breath of relief. The sudden blink of light causes the Vandals to start screeching, weapons aimed at her hand. Ghost disappears once more, and she turns to wave them down. "Stop!" she says, pointing at their weapons. "It's okay. I'm just… waking the Guardian up. Stand _down,"_ Maya adds for emphasis, pointing her palms to the floor in an exaggerated motion.

There's no way to tell if the Fallen understand her, but they at least know enough body language to lower their weapons. She stares at them for a moment to confirm they won't freak out again, then turns back to her work. That taken care of, she kneels down next to Cayde and opens up her hand again—this time close to her body and away from the Vandal's line of fire. "Come on, little guy," she whispers. "It's okay. They won't shoot."

It appears again, resting in her hand, and looks up at her with its lone, incredulous eye. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Revive Cayde," she orders, ignoring its question. "And tell him to not attack."

The ghost, to its credit, does what she says. It floats up towards its Guardian, looks to the Vandals and Kell for a horrified moment, then expands its body as she had seen it do before to repair Cayde's arm. The air around it flickers as it works, and it looks to be struggling to keep itself open. The Kell pads forwards to observe, the metal floor shaking beneath its weight. Its massive head cocks again, watching the ghost with curiosity.

Light begins to pool on the floor around Cayde, forcing back the roiling shadows from the small bubble of illumination. The Fallen seem entranced with the Light, stepping close to watch it form around the Guardian's body and repair the damage they'd inflicted not fifteen minutes ago. Their proximity makes the Light particulate crackle and bend, shying away from them. The ghost is shaking now above Cayde, shivering and emitting a low hum that sounds like it's in pain.

It just manages to pull Cayde's body back together before giving out, falling to rest on his chest. The light of its eye goes dim, and it stops moving. She's never seen a Guardian be revived before, but somehow she doubts this is how it usually goes.

Cayde's head moves then, eyes reigniting a bright blue. They adjust, move around the room, and then turn to her. She doesn't know what she must look like—probably wild, with her hair twisted and her clothes covered in blood, but she's confident she at least looks more friendly than the Fallen crowding around them. "Don't attack," is the first thing she says to him, and offers a hand for him to sit up.

His right arm reaches up to curl around his ghost, who whistles weakly at him. He takes her hand with his free one and sits upright, eyes locked on the Kell standing not five feet from them. "They won't kill us for now," she assures him. He doesn't break eye contact with the Kell.

"My gear?" he asks, not looking away.

"They… took it," she replies, and that finally forces him to look at her. His brow plate descends, pulling his face into an outraged grimace.

"What—"

Vandals pull her off the floor then, cutting off further conversation. Two more swarm Cayde, grabbing at his biceps, and she hears something like a snarl rip its way from his throat.

"Relax," she insists furiously, letting the Fallen drag her towards the door. The Kell moves ahead of them, along with the Servitor, shoving through the human-sized door.

"How can I?" He whispers back, still holding his ghost close to his chest. He keeps pace with the Vandals, not letting them yank him around, but there is a limp to his gait when he walks. Maya wonders what had happened to the ghost to force an incomplete revive, but she doesn't have the luxury to question it right now.

She hears bursts of sounds from weapons behind them, and looks back to see the Fallen destroying the lab equipment with extreme prejudice. Months of invaluable work on the Vex now instantly gone, with the only copy in Fallen hands. She feels like that should bother her more—a _lot_ more—but she can only pull together enough emotion to be grateful it's the equipment and not her.

They make their way back through the lab, this time to the exit. The Vandals occasionally snarl and jerk them forward when they don't walk fast enough, and Maya has to remind Cayde each time that killing them will only secure their own death. It doesn't stop him from glaring holes into their heads, and if she could read Fallen body language better, she'd say they were afraid of him.

His ghost doesn't move until they get into the antechamber before the main exit to the lab. The cogs on its body shudder as they turn, and its eye lights up to look at its Guardian. They don't speak aloud, but she's sure they must be talking with each other.

"Will your ghost be okay?" she asks. The Vandals chitter at her speaking, and Cayde waits for them to relax before replying.

"Just recovering," he assures her. "It was pretty Dark down there. Difficult to draw on Light. We'll be better when we get in open air."

She isn't a Guardian that relied on the Traveler's energy, but she can't agree more. The lab felt violated somehow, and not just because of the Fallen or her dead colleagues still lying on the metal floors. Whatever the Darkness is, it made everything around it feel sick and heavy.

No wonder Cayde's ghost had struggled to help him.

They get above ground, and she inhales greedily the outside air. She's never been outside without a respirator before, but the echoes of Venus' terraforming event are enough to deliver oxygen to her lungs. The air is hot and sticky, but it's a thousand fold fresher than the dead air in the lab.

"What the _hell?"_ she hears Cayde mutter beside her, and stops gasping long enough to follow his line of sight.

More Fallen are outside the compound, _many_ more, guarding the entrance to the lab and… to their ship.

The ketch is so massive it blocks out the sun and consumes her entire view, making her wonder how she missed it before. The hull is a deep blue, with House Winter sigils burned into the sides. The Vandals shove them forward, and the maw of a deck under the belly of the ship opens up for the Kell to enter—and them.

"I thought—" She looks to the Guardian. "I thought they'd just take us to a Vex site on Venus. Not… not in their _ship."_

Cayde _laughs_ then, a jovial noise so ludicrous that it makes her think there's some substance to the claim that all hunters are insane. "Well, Kell-tamer, you're about to give the Tower its first look inside a Fallen ketch. And _I'm_ gonna make huge bank on it if we manage to live through this. Consider it a good thing."

The absurdity of the moment makes rolling her eyes feel like a normal response. "I'm glad you're so optimistic," she mutters. Their conversation is cut off by another shove from the Vandals, and they walk the steps up into the belly of a Fallen ketch.

* * *

The air is gross inside their ship, too.

Yellow lights, circular domed hallways, and a foul smell is about all she can take in. The backpack slung over her shoulders feels incredibly heavy, and it's all she can do not to pass out. Bereft of the immediate threat of death, the flood of adrenaline begins to recede from her system, leaving exhaustion and the horrific images of her dead friends in its wake.

She shuffles along with the Vandals around them, shooting occasional glances at Cayde to make sure he's still there. She notices his ghost is gone, and wonders if it's scouting out the ship, or repairing itself out of sight, or perhaps simply hiding from any potential lines of fire. She wants to ask, to know more about the little robot's abilities, but she wonders again about how much the Fallen can understand them.

Cayde notices his staring and looks over at her. "You okay?"

"Not even a little bit," she whispers, and feels the air coat her words with a heavy wetness that makes her tongue feel slimy. She pulls her lips back and forces spit to the front of her mouth, wondering idly if she could get away with hocking on the floors of their disgusting ship.

They walk more, long enough that she considers going limp so they'd just carry her to wherever they're taking them, but she couldn't really stand the thought of a Vandal cradling her to its chest, so she forces herself to keep moving. The guards chatter amongst themselves, squaking and clicking and making a general hellish racket that's unnerving to listen to. The flow of their words is so alien it's difficult for her to distinguish anything from them, and it's too dim to even look at their limbs to try and figure out any basic body language. She once again wants to ask Cayde, but—

They stop abruptly, and a door she hadn't even noticed opens beside them. They're both shoved inside by the guards with enough force to make her stumble, and she feels Cayde's hand on her arm to help steady her. She looks over to nod a thank you to him, but then an arm is yanking on the backpack she's wearing.

"Hey—" She turns and tries to wave off the guard. "No, no weapons in here. Food and water."

It yanks again and chitters at her. She frowns and gestures to the bag again, trying for something more simple. "I need this or I will die."

It stares at her for a moment, taking stock of her face and maybe her words, and then yanks it off her shoulders anyway. The door closes behind it and they're shut away in some small room, with only a lone guard by the entrance as company.

"Great," she mutters, rubbing at her arms. Any more force and it would have dislocated her shoulder. "So they either have no clue what we're saying, or they do and they just don't care."

"Betting on the former," Cayde says beside her, staring down the guard in the corner of the room. "They want you alive. Wouldn't have taken food away on purpose—unless they're searching through it before they give it back. This isn't a proper prison cell," he adds absentmindedly, looking around the room.

"And how do you know that?" Her words come out harsh, but she's too tired to care. She slumps against the wall instead, using it as a bolster to slide down to the floor. The relief she got from the open air on Venus is now gone, replaced with the same cloying, inky atmosphere the Fallen had brought with them into the lab. Her breath came out in sharp wheezes, lungs only gathering enough oxygen for her not to pass out. She's done low-atmo training many times before, and only hopes her body would acclimate quickly.

Cayde does not wheeze because he doesn't breathe, but his movements are laboured and slow as he takes stock of their prison. "Vents in the corner of the ceiling large enough to crawl through," he answers her, either ignoring or unaware of her sharp tone. He makes an effort not to point or gesture to any part of the room, and looks directly at her when he speaks. "Supply containers strewn around the room. And they put that idiot in here with us. They either don't have an actual jail cell, or this _is_ a cell and they're really stupid."

She nods in agreement to his logic, and accepts the implications of that without comment. Guards mean the room isn't secure, and they could exploit that.

Not right now, though. She can barely think, let alone plan their escape. Maya pats the wall beside her instead. "Sit down for now," she tells him. "Rest. We'll figure this out later."

He considers her offer. "Could play cards," he says, and reaches for his belt. "Dunno how long we'll b— _shit."_ He whirls on his heel and glares at the Vandal when he finds his belt empty. "Took my—" Cayde pats himself down and begins spitting expletives. "You assholes took _everything,"_ he snarls at the Vandal, who screeches back at him, waving its staff in their direction.

"Don't antagonise it," she rasps from her seat on the floor, coughing in a vain attempt to clear her throat.

"My _gun_ , my _knife,"_ he continues, ignoring her. He counts his lost personal effects off on a righteous hand at the guard. "My _cards,_ my—"

The Vandal jabs the butt of its staff at Cayde's midsection when it decides it's had enough of his complaining. Not to be deterred, he grabs the weapon and yanks it forward, pulling the guard several feet closer. It shrieks at him again, this time in warning, and the Guardian's throat flares a bright yellow as he snarls back.

Maya jumps to her feet—surprised for a moment she has the energy to even _do_ that—and shoves at his arm.

"Stop, you _idiot!"_

He's far stronger than she is, and doesn't budge at her push, but he does release the staff from his grasp. The Vandal growls at him, stabbing the staff's end back down on the floor with a sharp crack. They begin a staring contest that ends with Maya waving a hand in front of Cayde's face and shouting " _sit down!"_

She keeps a forceful hold of his cuff until he settles down beside her, still not breaking eye contact with the Vandal in the corner. She's grateful it hadn't attacked Cayde for his outburst, because she doubted she'd be able to get him to stand down from direct contact.

"Do you want us to die?" she asks him, releasing his coat sleeve. "Calm down."

His back shoves against the wall, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. She's never seen an Exo pout before, but he's doing a good job of remedying that for her.

Maya blows out a breath and coughs again, nudging his leg with an annoyed foot. "We'll get your gear back. Be patient."

He looks over at her. "How do you know that?"

She frowns at him, annoyance spiking again. "I know because so far I've done a fantastic job at keeping us alive, while _you—"_ She stabs a finger at a steel pectoral, anger at the events of the past hour bleeding into her words. "Have been at the throat of every Fallen soldier that passes by. If anything, _I_ should be wearing your cloak and sporting a telepathic ghost, not you."

Cayde's response could be filed away for later use as a shining example of hunter psychology. He pulls back from her, the plates of his face shifting between anger and hurt and surprise, before finally settling on an infinitely more bizarre emotion that she isn't even sure she's reading correctly—amusement.

"You'd make a good warlock, Kell-tamer," is his response, equal parts acquiescence and apology. The tension releases from his body, and the Vandal relaxes in the corner. _Crisis avoided. For now._

"Why do you keep calling me that?" She curls up her legs and hugs them with her arms, trying to keep warm.

"You're the first person that I've ever heard of to talk down a Kell from killing them, and you did it with one word." He shakes his head. "Call me impressed."

"Yeah, well, I don't know how long that will last." She looks at the Vandal. "How well can they understand us?" She rubs at her face with the sleeve of her coat. "I meant to ask your ghost before, but— where is it, anyway?"

It pops into existence with her question on top of Cayde's shoulder. It still looks worse for wear, and rests itself on his pauldron as opposed to hanging in the air. It makes the short journey and floats over to her, though, settling down on her own shoulder. The small amount of Light it gives off is enough to make the immediate air around them cleaner, and she curls towards it. "Not sure," it answers her. "We don't know enough about them to know for certain, as Cayde mentioned earlier, besides the fact that Servitors at least can communicate in human language. The Tower will be pleased to learn that."

"You briefed Cayde on what happened, then?"

The hunter nods beside her. "Quick thinking, that."

"I owe your ghost for giving me the idea. We should theorise together more often." She rubs her eyes again and rests her chin on her knees. "Well, we can't discuss a game plan until we figure out if they know what we're saying, so I'm going to take a nap."

"Could talk in code," Cayde offers, picking at a frayed thread on his cloak. "Or write stuff down, maybe—if they hadn't taken my notepad, too." He shoots another glare at the guard, who shuffles in place and sneers back at him.

"Why would an exo write things down?" she grumbles, more to herself than him. She huddles close against the wall and crowds his ghost closer towards her. "Keep close, please," she tells it. "It's easier to breathe."

It whistles in affirmation. Her head falls to rest on the wall, and she only stays awake long enough to tell Cayde not to start any fights with the guards before promptly passing out.

* * *

The alien lack of any weight at his hip has him continually reaching for his belt, and finding his holster empty and his pockets cleaned out only renews his annoyance. The ache in his leg and shoulder does nothing to remedy that either, and combined with the cloying moisture of Darkness hanging in the air, it's difficult to concentrate on much else.

 _At least we're alive,_ his ghost whispers to him silently. It's still positioned on Maya's shoulder, resting lightly on her ruined lab coat and expanding what little Light it gives off to help her breathe around the inky air. He's once again thankful he no longer has to bother with things like breathing; the Dark of the room is sickly enough without the need to gulp in air.

 _Barely,_ he thinks back, rubbing at his knee. He can still feel the pierce of the bullet in his joint, a constant burn of hurt that fills his senses. Besides the immediate pain of the injury, it makes him worry about greater concerns; how fast would he be able to move when it was time to hightail it out of here?

He senses the regret of his ghost and looks over at it. _Not your fault,_ he assures it, and the regret retreats.

It blinks at him, a gesture he knows as amusing. _Just think of it as an added challenge._

 _Don't like taking bets I can't win._

 _Won't win with that attitude, certainly._

He rolls his eyes. Right then he sees a horrible shudder run through Sundaresh, and her face pulls together in pain. He wonders at first if she's been hurt—which would be _another_ complication they'd have to address—but when she whispers out a strangled " _no",_ he realises she's having nightmares. Cayde's surprised she's lasted even this long without bad dreams; the last few hours have been particularly brutal, especially for civilians.

Well, _civilian_ , singular. He'd only managed to save one out of the four. Hopefully the Vanguard's gotten to the outpost by this point, and would be able to defend the other facilities if they Fallen decide to hang around.

 _My turn to say not your fault,_ his ghost murmured.

 _Maya wouldn't even be alive if not for you,_ he thinks back, sending his ghost a wave of gratefulness.

 _And we wouldn't be alive without her, either, so I suppose we're all even._

 _Not yet. I have the debt of three bodies to repay still._

 _Then stop moping and come up with a plan._

He frowns over at the shell, and it whistles low in amusement at him. The noise makes the guard in the corner shuffle its feet uneasily, and he forces himself not to look at it. _Can't engage until we know more about this place._

 _I could scout,_ his ghost offers. _Have to be sneaky, though. They'd sense my Light in a place so Dark._

 _And not for long. Don't know how long a regular human would last in here without some Light._ Which means he'll have to wake up Maya and keep her conscious, so she can prepare herself for what is probably going to be a shitty few hours with Ghost gone.

Cayde touches her shoulder as softly as he can, cognisant of the grimace still pulling at her mouth. She flinches at the touch, moaning, and he dares to shake her. Gently, of course.

She gasps, her eyes flying wide open and her whole body going tense. He presses a palm to her mouth to make sure she stays quiet, brutally aware of the guard stirring behind them, and he meets her half-wild gaze.

"It's alright," he says, knowing full well that this is the _opposite_ of alright. "Need you awake for a bit, though."

She continues to stare wide-eyed, her gaze passing around the room and catching on the Vandal. Her breathing speeds up, but she doesn't scream, so he removes his hand from her mouth. Maya shudders again, closes her eyes, and rubs at the shoulder she'd leaned against the wall.

"Fuck," she whispers. "Thought maybe this was just a really bad dream."

He laughs at that. The light at his throat throws shadows across the wall, clashing with the oily black slithering around them.

"Unfortunately not," he laments. "And even more unfortunately, it's about to get worse."


End file.
